


Custard Pie

by CarakinWonder



Series: Three Word Prompts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarakinWonder/pseuds/CarakinWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every once in a blue moon Sherlock does get hungry and it's up to John to facilitate him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Custard Pie

**Author's Note:**

> From theresidentdork: custard, coupon, creativity.

“John...” Sherlock called, his voice lilting it's way from his position in the den through the door to the kitchen where it curled around the feet of a very tired John Watson. 

John pinched his nose between the index finger and thumb on his right hand and breathed in slowly. He'd been able to scrap up four hours of sleep last night, after following Sherlock around the entire perimeter of London after some stupid criminal. 

They had caught the man in the end but not without John receiving bruises from tumbling off of the top of a building, a whack to the knee from an older gentleman's jewel tipped walking stick, and cuts from a henchman with a blunt knife. 

And now here he was, jolted awake at precisely six in the morning by a man with nothing better to do. 

The army doctor picked up his mug, a good brew could make anything all that much better, and headed back to where Sherlock was laying across the couch. His mop of dark curls was hanging off of the bottom left edge, and his legs were up in air, his heels laying on top of the couch and his toes on the wall. 

“Yes?” John hissed, taking a deep gulp of tea despite the scalding temperature. Maybe a little burn in the morning would help wake him up. 

“I'm hungry.” Sherlock said, opening his eyes and staring up at him. The consulting detective's lips barely moved when he spoke, like he was trying to mumble out his words, but John had never heard two words be spoken louder. 

“What?” He blubbered. Of all the things that Sherlock had ever said to him, the statement that he was hungry had never been one of them before. John couldn't remember a time when he had seen Sherlock eat more than a bite, even when they were off of a case. 

“I'm hungry.” Sherlock repeated, rolling over slightly. A sheaf of hair fell into his slate gray eyes and with a nonchalant swipe of his hand, he brushed it away again. “And I would like something sweet.” 

John squinted. “Okay...” He said testily. “We don't really have anything sweet in the house. A jar of jam maybe but it's on it's last legs. Don't think we have any bread anyway.” 

Sherlock shook his head and slid his legs off of the top of the couch, tucking them under him and as he sat up. “No, no. I want something good. Some kind of cake or pie, a pastry of sorts.” 

“I guess I could go buy you something. Get me a sandwich on the way back.” John mused as he made his way to the door, pulling his jacket off of the hook and on to his shoulders. 

“No.” Sherlock snapped suddenly, jumping off of the couch in one quick fluid movement. Like a bird in flight, John thought briefly. “I want you to bake me something.” Sherlock said, gripping the sides of John's arms. 

John shook his head. “That's not happening, Sherlock. I'll go buy you something but I am not baking you anything.”

\---

“Mrs. Hudson, what's something easy that I could bake?” John asked as he entered her kitchen. Mrs. Hudson looked up from where she was scrubbing the counters, the sink full of suds and her hands in yellow gloves. She narrowed her eyes at him and asked, “Why?” 

John shrugged his shoulders. “Sherlock has requested something sweet.” He told her. “Why can't you go buy him something?” She wondered. “Suggested that.” He shot back. 

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. “What if I make him something?” “Also suggested that.” John told her with a nervous smile. The landlady rolled her eyes and sighed. “You could make a custard pie.” She told him, as she continued to furiously scrub the nonexistent grim from her kitchen tiles. 

John smile grew even wider. “That would work. That would be easy right?” He questioned. Mrs. Hudson puffed and peeled off one of her fluorescent gloves. She tugged open one of the drawers and riffled around in the wad of papers inside for a moment before she thrust two pieces of paper at him. “There's a quick recipe.” She huffed at him.

John held up the other piece of paper. It was a brightly colored coupon for custard from the market down the street. Mrs. Hudson waved him away. “I'm always prepared darling. Now, off you go. Don't want to keep him waiting.” 

\---

The timer yelled loudly at John in a very tinny and aggravated voice before he grabbed it and after a moment of confusion, figured out how to turn it off. He pulled an oven mitt onto one hand and pulled the oven door open with the other. “Sherlock?” He called over his shoulder as he tugged the pan out of the warm appliance. 

“It's done.” He said, as he placed it on a hot mat that he had borrowed from Mrs. Hudson. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out the plastic baskets of strawberries and blueberries that he had also purchased at the store. 

John washed and cut up the berries, arranging them on a plate and setting it next to the steaming pie moments before Sherlock entered the kitchen, still wearing his pair of blue pinstriped pajamas and dark red dressing gown from that morning. 

Sherlock looked down at the confection on their kitchen table and then back up at his flatmate. “You actually baked me something?” He wondered incredulously. John nodded sharply and placed a plate and a fork on the table in front of Sherlock. “Yes I did.”

A small smile crossed Sherlock's face, so quick John didn't believe he had seen it for a moment. Sherlock sat down at the table and looked up expectantly at John, one eyebrow raised. “Will you join me?” He questioned, motioning to the other seat with a sweep of his hand.

John nodded and sat down next to Sherlock. He picked up a knife and cut two slices out the pie, placing one on Sherlock's plate, and one on a plate he had already set for himself. Sherlock cocked his head to side, staring at the berries before taking the entire plate of strawberries and dumping it on top of his slice. 

John snorted and looked at him, both eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “I like strawberries.” Sherlock snapped at him, picking up his fork and popping one in to his mouth. 

“I can see that.” John said, placing a few of the blueberries on his own piece of pie. Silence fell over them for a long moment and the dark haired detective was halfway through his slice before he turned to John. 

“This is really quite good, John. Very creative. I was thinking you would go straight for a cake of some sorts. I like this much better.” Sherlock praised him, biting into another strawberry with a smear of custard and graham cracker crust along the side. 

John beamed. “I'm glad you like it.” The army doctor said.


End file.
